


Asking For It

by Skalidra



Series: Retribution's Reward [2]
Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Established Relationship, Intersex Omegas, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mating Bites, Omega Jason Todd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:06:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23768191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra
Summary: Now officially moved into Slade's apartment, his recovery well on its way, Jason's had the opportunity to move some of his stuff in. In the process, he discovers one of his books is missing. His favorite, in fact. Slade's not being any help finding it, of course. (But maybe there's a reason for that.)
Relationships: Jason Todd/Slade Wilson
Series: Retribution's Reward [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1577518
Comments: 24
Kudos: 504





	Asking For It

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! Surprise! Bet you didn't think you were going to get more of this, did you? Well, I got an ask on Tumblr that asked whether I had any headcanons for how this proposal actually happened, and I _could_ have answered like a normal person and just said, 'Why yes I do, here's what happened!'. But instead, I latched onto that ask and went, 'YES I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENS THANKS FOR THE EXCUSE TO WRITE IT,' and well, here we are.
> 
> Enjoy, guys. XD

"Hey, have you seen any of my books lying around?"

Slade doesn't look up. Clicks into a different blueprint. "Apart from the one next to the bed?"

Jason pauses. Hesitates as if debating if his own memory is accurate before he turns on a heel and strides off across the apartment, towards the bedroom. He must be taking a look around the rest of the bedroom while he's in there, too, because it takes longer than a quick look at the bedside table should take. Soon enough, though, he comes back, huffing. Annoyed in tone and scent both.

"Yes. Apart from that one."

"No," he lies, easily. “Why?”

“I’m missing one. I can’t find it.”

"There were a lot of piles. Sure you didn't misplace it, sorting everything?"

" _Yes_ , Slade, I'm sure. It wasn't in the boxes."

"Hm." He minimizes the blueprint, goes back to the schedule of his theoretical target. Jason's been healing well; he's more or less self sufficient, now. If there's a time limit on this job, Slade won't take it, but he'd like to line something up for a few weeks ahead. He's starting to feel the itch to work again, now that Jason doesn't need nearly as much of his focus. He's never done well with idleness.

" _Slade…_ ” Jason says, standing at the edge of his vision. There's half a growl to it.

"You called that butler of yours yet? See if he still has it?"

Another pause.

"… No. But, he wouldn't… He knows it's—”

Now Slade looks up, and this might be entirely his doing, but the confused, slightly lost look on his omega's face still tugs at him a bit. The still-present sling probably doesn't help any with that, either, or the sour edge of distress starting to permeate the air. It's not a surprising reaction, not with the recent massive upheaval of his life, but somehow that's only occurring to Slade now that it's already starting. Jason's already been stressed and more than a little moody, stuck in inactivity and in an apartment that's only become dual property by virtue of Jason needing somewhere to feel safe. Having something of important significance go missing would upset even someone that hadn't just had their whole life upended.

(' _It's his favorite,'_ the meddlesome old butler had said when he dropped all of it off, with a raised eyebrow and a sharply pointed look, and put the book directly into his hands instead of back into the box it came from.)

He shuts the laptop and gets off the couch, moving over to cup the side of Jason's neck and lean close, despite the unhappy grumble. His omega doesn't curse at him, swat him, or pull away, so the noise is nothing more than defensive bluster. The moment that Slade's got him wrapped under an arm, head at his shoulder, he eases a little, exhaling a long breath against his neck.

After a long few moments Jason buries his face a little further against his throat, hands grasping at his shirt. "I'll call him," he agrees, quiet and reluctant.

Slade hums softly, just enough for Jason to feel the vibration, probably. "Do you want me to see if I can find it?"

Not that he'd have to search, of course. He knows exactly where the book is. Very safely hidden away where his partner won't find it, no matter how actively he stretches those investigative skills.

Jason huffs. "It's just a book." It's not. "I'll find it." He won't.

He presses a kiss to Jason's temple, letting his other hand rest at the small of his partner's back. "I'll keep an eye out."

"Good to know you'd give me everything you have."

Slade growls lightly, nipping at an ear in mock punishment. "Careful, boy."

Jason snorts, leaning back to look him in the eye, chin raised and a calculating sort of challenge in his expression. “Or what?”

The boy always manages to keep his attention, somehow. Slade’s long since mastered nearly all of his instincts, but there’s no denying the parts of him brought to life by that hint of a challenge, aching to put his teeth to the open length of throat tempting him and prove to his partner that he’s just as deserving of the privilege now as he was the first time. Mark it, claim it, show the whole world that Jason is _his_.

He exhales, rubbing his thumb over that bare skin and pressing down every more physical urge presenting itself. “You’re lucky those ribs of yours aren’t fully healed yet, boy, or I’d show you.”

“That’s not really threatening,” Jason points out, but his voice has lowered a little, and his scent’s starting to change very distinctly from distress to interest.

Slade lets his teeth flash. His options might be limited, but Jason should know by now that he’s particularly good at improvising. “You want a threat?” he asks, deepening his voice to the lower, rumbling tones that never fail to make Jason shiver. “Watch your tongue, _boy_ , or I’ll take you back to our bed and eat you out till you beg me to stop.”

To his senses, the consent might as well be a neon sign. A stifled gasp, a swell of scent, a tense and release of muscle in all the right places. The slightest further upwards tilt of his chin, the height of it wavering at that line between challenge and submission.

Still, he waits for Jason to shudder and take a breath. It’s no surprise when his answer comes as a goading, “Big talk for an old man.”

If it’s a distraction Jason’s interested in, he can provide that.

He smirks, and shifts the hand on Jason’s neck just enough to grab him by the back of it, pulling him up on his toes as he sucks in a breath. “I always keep my word.”

Jason’s palm presses into his chest, very specifically digging just the slightest bit into his sternum. “Prove it.”

He’d be glad to.

* * *

Jason doesn’t find the book, of course. He’s hidden it too well for that, though his partner does turn the entire house upside down more than once looking for it. Not that he admits that’s what he’s doing. ‘Rearranging,’ he calls it. Or, ‘deep cleaning,’ the second time.

Slade lets the lies pass without calling them out, though they both know his senses make lying all but impossible.

The butler seems to have an idea of his plans; the man’s more devious than he ever gave credit for, before. Jason calls him more than once, but to Slade’s knowledge, the old man never gives any hint that he knows where the missing book is. Difficult to pin his motivation, but it’s interesting all the same. Makes things easier.

When he has the opportunity, Slade offers the idea that Wayne might have taken it. A stolen keepsake, before the butler delivered them.

He admires the rage that intimation causes, and doesn’t feel the slightest bit guilty aiming it where he has.

The spot on the shelf stays open; glaringly obvious against the rest of the painstakingly organized books, though precisely what the organization is, Slade doesn’t know. He’s only sure that there is some method to it; possibly the order they were collected, or separated by common theme, if not their actual genres. Jason dislikes mess in general, so Slade doubts he would allow such an important collection to be displayed any way but — to his own mind — perfectly.

When he walks in on Jason exercising, the sling nowhere in sight and a breathless, “Got cleared. Build the muscle back up and I’m good to go,” as his explanation, Slade allows himself to begin to feel the anticipation.

It’s no different than a hunt, in the end. Slow, careful planning, strategy, and the patience to see it through.

Nothing he hasn’t done before.

* * *

"There's coffee in the kitchen," Slade murmurs in his ear, just after he's woken up.

As seductions go, it's a damn good one. He groans lightly, and Slade presses lips and a little bit of teeth to the side of his neck with an amused rumble he can feel more than hear, even with how close it is to his ear. He shifts, tilting his head to bare a little more of his neck and not feeling like opening his eyes quite yet. If lying here means he gets to have Slade mouthing at his neck, scent rich and thick when he breathes in, that's worth the delay of coffee.

He does need to pee, though. Damn it.

He pries his eyes open, sighing a little regretfully at the fact that Slade's leaning over him completely sans a shirt, or — he glances down — pants. Just the same tight, black briefs he puts under his armor. The ones that hug his ass, and do fucking _nothing_ to hide the bulge of his cock. The ones that he can just tug down and they're out of the way to do whatever he wants.

He doesn't quite manage to hold back the whine that thought brings to his tongue. He's going to blame that on only being half awake, and the teeth at his neck already lulling him into the kind of mindset that has him imagining how that clothed bulge will feel rolling against him.

Slade chuckles, hand clasping over his upper arm, mouth shifting a little lower to tease the slope of his neck and shoulder.

He would _really_ like to just let this go wherever it's going to, but there are definitely parts of his anatomy that would not be happy with that decision.

"I n'dta pee," he mumbles, before Slade can push him down or touch anything else that might convince him to risk it.

Slade's teeth retreat, only to press a less enticing kiss to the skin there instead. "Later, then," is the promise, rumbled against his throat and immediately making him regret that decision.

Slade pulls away, and Jason drags his eyes open because there's no way he's missing even a second of Slade strolling across the room, the easy grace of a predator making his walk practically a stalk even without any prey in sight, the bared pull and shift of muscle making his mouth water and his throat dry at the same time. God, he's going to be so fucking happy when the last bit of soreness in his arm is gone and they can get back to how they used to have sex. Not that he's minding the slower, methodical sex, or all the oral, or Slade's restrained intensity, but he misses Slade tossing him up against walls and fucking him within an inch of his life.

He's _ready_ for that. His ribs are fine. His arm's just a little weak; he could handle it. God fucking damn does he want to handle it.

Slade throws, "Coffee," over his shoulder like a reminder, just before he vanishes out towards the living room. Of course no pants. Why would he put on pants? Slade seems very firmly of the opinion that he can not-wear whatever he wants, and anyone that wants to be around him can just deal with that.

It's… distracting.

Jason rolls out of bed with a groan, wandering in the direction of the bathroom and grabbing a pair of sweatpants on the way because unlike some people, he's not an exhibitionist. He'll have coffee, see if there's any kind of plan for the day, have breakfast… Maybe he can tempt Slade into a spar. He could use a little more live exercise than just weights and drills.

Slade's lounging on the couch when he comes through, legs kicked up on the table, tablet in one hand and mug in the other. Coffee doesn't do jack-shit to Slade, but Jason puts his tendency to drink it in the mornings anyway down to psychosomatic response and leaves it at that. There's more in the pot, and Jason beelines to it. Pours himself a mug, filters it a little with the half & half Slade left out for him, and takes a deep breath of it as he cups the mug. Just the fumes are enough to wake him up a bit.

He heads back to the living room, taking the first sip of the coffee — cooled down just enough by the half & half that it doesn't burn his tongue — and eyeing the long stretch of Slade's legs. And his thighs. And the muscle in his biceps. Christ, it's completely unfair that Slade's so _big_. He didn't need to be big; super-strength doesn't need physical mass. Who decided he had to be enhanced _and_ built like _that?_

"You missed something."

Jason blinks, dragging his gaze away from Slade's arms to the eye watching him. "What?"

Slade's mouth curls in a slow smirk. "In the kitchen. You missed something."

He squints. Thinks about it for a second and then grunts and turns around. He doesn't remember seeing anything, but he went straight for the coffee. Did Slade get him take-out from somewhere? Make breakfast? He would have smelled breakfast, surely. Unless it was like, yogurt or something and Slade's just wanting credit for taking it out of the fridge.

He steps past the frame and scans the room, and—

Wait… that's…

He sets his coffee on the table and picks up the book instead, and the delicate little thread of hope in his chest blooms bright and sharp. He knows this book. He knows every _inch_ of this book. First edition of Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice. Something he didn't remotely understand the value of when he was just a kid — not at first, anyway — but it was _his_ , and not just the battered old copy the library had, but beautiful and rare. His favorite, and not just because it was the first book that Alfred had personally tracked down for him, after actually noticing that he cared about it.

Jesus, he thought this was gone. He'd been keeping an eye out to see if it popped up for sale anywhere, but he hadn't heard a thing. Alfred didn't know where it was, and it wasn't like he was going to go to any of their family and ask if they'd seen it, not with all the shit they're all dealing with. Couldn't ask Bruce either, for obvious reasons. They haven't talked, and he doesn't want to.

Slade found it. _Fuck_ , Slade found it.

He cracks it open, slowly and carefully, just to look at the words. Gently he lets the pages fall, scanning to see if there's any obvious damage. He gets stopped by a flash of bright white between two pages, and backtracks with a frown. It's a scrap of paper. That's odd; he wouldn't have left any kind of paper inside a book like this, and no one else has reason to read this but him, right? Surely no one at the manor was reading through a first-edition copy of a classic Jane Austen, casually enough to bookmark their place with a scrap of paper instead of actually finishing.

Jason frowns and picks it out, eyeing the torn edge to what looks like new, normal printer paper. He turns it over, and there are words on the other side. Just two, in a very familiar, scrawled hand.

_I'm asking._

That's Slade's handwriting. What is he…?

He holds the book to his chest, stares at the paper another moment before pressing it against the back of the book, turning back around. Slade hasn't moved from his position, except that his tablet's on the coffee table now, instead of in hand. He's holding the mug with both palms wrapped around it, overlapping.

Jason swallows, staring at him as his brain twists around what's starting to feel like a very distinct possibility. "Have you had this… the whole time?" he asks, quietly.

Slade holds his gaze. "Yes."

He has to force his hands not to tighten. He's… He's _angry_. This whole time, all the stress, all the worry, all the times that he was upset and Slade knew it… The fucking promise to _look_ for it, like it wasn't sitting in some box or safe somewhere, waiting for… for whatever the fuck this is. He _had it the whole time_.

"I guess you should put it away."

Jason feels like Slade's tugging at a rug under his feet. Not yanking it out from under him, not completely, but pulling just enough to keep him feeling unbalanced. "What?"

Slade shrugs, but he's watching him over the edge of his cup like a hawk, even as he takes a sip of it. "Got a place picked out for it, don't you? It's back; put it away."

Feeling a little like a puppet, and a little like he's playing into some grander game he doesn't understand yet, Jason hesitates but slowly turns towards his shelf. The spot's waiting there, just like it has been since Alfred sent him the whole collection and he sorted it all out to begin with. He glances at Slade, still watching, before he walks over.

It almost blends into the shadow cast by the books on either side, but there's… something there. A small box. Distantly, he hears the clink of ceramic on the table, but his focus is on picking up that little — velvet, black, hinged — box off the shelf. His breath feels frozen in his chest, his hands stiff.

He thumbs the box open.

A black metal band, shining and smooth, with rounded edges and a hint of brighter metal on the inside. It looks like words, but he doesn't have the opportunity to look at them before Slade appears at his side, very carefully taking Pride and Prejudice from him and pushing it into the slot it belongs in, leaving him with the open box in one hand, and the note he found in the other.

A hand cups the back of his, turning his palm upwards and pulling his fingers open so the note stares up at him.

_I'm asking_.

Holy shit.

Jason takes a shuddering breath, eyes flickering closed for a moment as Slade shifts closer to his back, lips pressing to the back of his neck. It's been in the back of his head, somewhere. Ever since Slade came back from enacting vengeance that he never asked for, holding back only because he'd asked it, implying a lot of things that he never actually said. He'd thought about it a lot, especially in the days just afterwards, but Slade never made any move. It was disappointing in a weird way, but Jason was kind of glad for it on later reflection. It would have been bad timing. Too intense, too many heightened emotions for any clear answer.

Now here he is, though. Staring at a note, and a ring. A… note.

"Oh my god," he breathes, exasperation making him want to pinch the bridge of his nose. He tilts his head back instead, since his hands are occupied. "I said _verbally_."

Slade hums, hand releasing his to wrap around his waist, lips brushing his ear. "Oh, did you?"

"Yes I did, and you _know_ that, Mr. Photographic Memory." He turns, and Slade doesn't stop him. Looks amused and self-satisfied, when he glares up. "You know _exactly_ what I said; you're just an asshole."

Slade's palm is warm at the small of his back, his other hand a light brush, when the knuckles touch his side. "Never claimed otherwise." There's a small pause, and Slade's hand lifts to his jaw, thumb brushing the very outermost edge of his cheek. "You know what I am, kid," he murmurs. "You know I'm not going to change."

He knows. Slade's an asshole, has been since the day they met. He's an arrogant, morally grey (at best), possessive, violent, _asshole_. And Jason knew that from the start. He can live with it.

And he thinks… He thinks he can live _with_ it, too.

He swallows, tucking the paper into the box so he can pull the ring out of its little notch. He tilts it so he can see the silver-colored writing inside, in tiny, block letters utterly unlike the flowing script he was expecting. _'I promise everything I can'_ , it reads, and in the middle between the start and end of the phrase…

Jason snorts before he can help himself, looking at the tiny square of some kind of clear material, layered over a very neat looking piece of tech. Very familiar looking tech.

"Did you give me a wedding ring with a _tracker_ in it?" he asks, lifting his gaze to Slade's with a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Slade's smirk echoes his own expression. "It's charged by movement. As long as you wear it, it'll work." One of Slade's eyebrows cocks upwards, a knowing edge to his voice as he adds, “It’s a matching set.”

Jason stills, the smile sliding off his face in surprise. “Really?”

“Mm.” Slade’s voice lowers. “I wouldn’t want you as anything but an equal, kid. Wouldn’t be any fun.”

Asshole. Can never just say what he means. Never gives, except where he wants to.

Jason laughs, ducking his head to press it against Slade’s chest. Fingers come to his hair, a hand that could snap his neck with no effort gently cupping the back of his skull instead. His fingers close around the ring, and his other hand shuts the box and drops it. He’ll pick it up later.

It takes a couple tries to get a breath deep enough that he can straighten up and use his free hand to push Slade back a few inches. It scares him, a little, but there are lines he has to hold. Maybe this isn’t one of them, but he wants it to be, and Slade… If Slade wants an equal, he’ll have to do his share of compromising, sometimes.

Slade doesn’t do anything as obvious as panic at the enforced distance, but there is a bit of a sharp edge that hardens his gaze. It’s worry, if you know how to read him, and Jason’s gotten pretty damn good at that. He had to, to have any chance against Slade’s ridiculous level of ability to read people.

Jason takes one of his hands and presses the ring into it. Looks him in the eye, and says, “I already told you what I need you to do.”

Slade studies him for a moment, and then snorts softly, the hard edge fading away.

He almost doesn’t believe it when Slade sinks down to one knee, head tilted back to maintain eye contact. His left hand is taken. Held.

“Jason Todd,” Slade starts. He swears the only thing keeping him grounded is that grip on his hand. “Will you be mine, as I am yours?”

It’s not the usual words, but Slade’s not a ‘usual’ kind of person and _Jesus fuck_ he’s actually asking. He’s really…

“ _Yes_ ,” he somehow manages to gasp, past the fluttering tightness of his chest.

Slade’s teeth flash, and the swell of his scent is thick and potent in the air as he gives the faintest rumble of a growl. Jason shivers, but Slade’s touch is nothing but gentle as he eases his fingers out straight, and slides the ring over his finger. It’s a perfect fit. Of course it is.

He chokes around the hysterical urge to laugh as Slade gets to his feet, hands coming to his jaw and the side of his neck and tilting his head up, holding it there as Slade looms over him.

“Will you bond with me?” he asks, barely a breath but Jason doesn’t need it to be more than that, with how close they are. “Bear my mark?”

This, “Yes,” is as hardwon as the first, but voicing it pulls a growl from Slade, low and possessive and dangerous.

Slade kisses him, and it’s all barely leashed ferocity, passion pushed to its heights as Slade crushes him close, scent bombarding every gasped breath with _want, need, **mine**_.

He digs his nails into Slade’s back and meets it all.

When teeth move from his lips to his neck, latching onto a point low enough it’s nearly on his shoulder and digging in hard enough to make the intention clear, Jason only tilts his head back and pushes into it.

“ _Yes_ ,” he encourages. That time, no word’s ever felt easier.

Slade’s teeth break the skin, and there’s the flash of pain, the ache of abused muscle, and then a heat that rushes through his veins and lights them up from the inside. He gasps, and then driven by a need he finds utterly irresistible, leans in and sinks his teeth into Slade’s throat in turn. Slade snarls, palm sliding over his back to drag him closer, crush them together hard enough it’s almost hard to breathe. He can’t imagine being any further apart, though.

Jason’s tasted enough blood in his time to know the flavor; his own and others — it comes with the job, sometimes. He’s bitten people before, too. Snapped his teeth shut on fingers and hands as needed, to prove he wouldn’t be touched without it costing. There’s a vague memory in the back of his head about ripping a throat out, too, but he doesn’t know whether it was a fever dream or not, and he’s never asked Talia about it. There are things about his brain-damaged time that he’s decided he would rather not know.

This, though, is something else entirely. There’s thick, rich satisfaction settling into his bones, and the only thought that wants to stay in his head is a loud, circling declaration of _**mine**_. _This is **mine**._

Jason lets go only when he has to breathe, tipping his head back to gasp in a breath, panting as if this was a spar or something. Slade's teeth ease free just a moment after; the bite stings when the air hits it, but it's nothing bad, easy to be distracted from when Slade starts laying kisses up the length of his throat, nipping at the skin and urging him to give a breathless moan. Hands grab at his waist, hefting him up like it's nothing and walking him back a step to press his spine against something hard and unforgiving. The wall? Fuck it, he doesn't even care.

Slade growls deeply enough to make his eyelids flutter, fingers catching at the top of his sweatpants and pushing them down with an unusual lack of finesse. Jason finds he doesn't give a single shit, though, when Slade snarls, " _I want you_ ," into his ear like a demand and a warning both.

Jason catches a glimpse of the bite mark on Slade's throat as he gasps, red and blatant and _his_. Saying no never even crosses his mind. He just tilts his head back against the wall, and his, " _Do_ it," comes out just as much a demand.

The sweatpants catch at his knees, but that's more than enough room for Slade's hand to get between his thighs, fingers thick and rough shoving their way into him. He's the one to impatiently kick his pants the rest of the way off as Slade fingers him, merciless in the abuse of his most sensitive spots. It aches right on the line of pain and _need._

"Slade, _Slade_."

The fingers withdraw and grab at his thigh, hefting him up so he can wrap his legs around Slade's waist. He can hear the ragged edge to Slade's breathing, restraint in frayed tatters as he shoves the briefs down far enough to get what he wants. "You're _mine_ , kid," he snarls, as he lines up.

Jason grabs the back of his neck, snarls right back, and shoves down.

It's an aching stretch, but he's slick and he _needs_ it, so he bares his teeth through the discomfort and pushes the rest of the way down. Slade's breath hitches, hands flexing hard enough to bruise on his thighs. The reaction gives him a burst of vicious satisfaction. He might be Slade's, but Slade is _his_ , too. His alpha. His _mate_.

That thought takes him straight from viciousness to a soaring kind of disbelief. Slade is his _mate_.

He digs his nails into the back of Slade's neck, twisting his head to meet Slade's gaze, hooded and intense, lip pulled into the faintest snarl as he obviously clings to what control he has left. The strongest alpha that he's ever known, intelligent, powerful, and skilled, and Slade picked _him._ But it goes both ways, and Jason knows with dizzying certainty that if he'd said no, Slade would have backed off. As much as Slade picked him, he picked _Slade_.

"Show me," he orders and _asks,_ squeezing down on the thick weight of Slade's cock in him.

Slade's eye darkens even further. There's no words, but it feels like a promise all the same when Slade shifts his grip to a sturdier one and, holding eye contact, rolls his hips back and _thrusts_. He sucks in a breath, tightening the grip of his thighs, baring his teeth at the ache but pressing his forehead to Slade's in encouragement.

" _More_."

Slade gives him what he's asked for. Fucks him hard enough he knows he'll bruise, his back scraping against the wall. If they actually had neighbors Jason's sure they'd be getting complaints, but Slade owns the floor, which is good because there's no way he could try to hold back how loud he gets. All he can do is hold on through it, clinging as Slade gives him what he's asked for and then some. And then, finally, snarls and drags him down, a last few shallow, stuttered thrusts tying them together.

Jason shudders, pants, and doesn't have the time to even think about his own lack of completion before Slade's hand is on his cock, mouth at the nearly painful sensitivity of his scent gland. He comes apart in a matter of seconds.

Slade rumbles satisfaction against his throat, rocking against him and shifting the heavy swell of the knot just enough to have him gasping all over again. He wraps his arms over Slade's shoulders, burying his face against his throat with a groan. Slade just laughs, but he does stop moving. It lets Jason float, content in the haze of pleasure, sharpened with the new giddiness of possession. By the way Slade is nuzzling at his throat, pressing soft kisses to the bite he left and rumbling a hint of a low alpha purr in his chest at every breath, he feels it too.

Jason finds himself smiling, echoing that faint purr with his own, a little louder only because it still feels like a dusty, unpracticed sound to him. Slade's never mocked him for it, though. He doesn't now, either.

He just breathes, " _Mine_ ," into his neck, stroking a hand up his side. And mouthed against his skin, silent but for the shape of his lips, are three words that Jason's never actually heard out loud.

He smiles, and with a whisper, agrees, "Love you, too."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! [You can find my Tumblr right here.](http://skalidra.tumblr.com/)


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